


Insults Taste like Blood

by DragonofFernweh



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Gen, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Violence, actually, and yuri is tough but he's still only fifteen in a world that he feels is against him, in which people hurt yuri because he's gay, parental role viktor, parental yuuri too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 15:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8628985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonofFernweh/pseuds/DragonofFernweh
Summary: Being born gay in a world that often looks down on it as a crime, or as something worth being punished, Yuri believes that he was born wrong. He tries to keep it a secret from most, but some people just assume things on their own, and Yuri doesn't step down from a fight. It's unfortunate that Viktor can always tell when Yuri is lying. "Yuri, I'm on my way.""You idiot, you're in Japan!"





	1. Bitter

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at two-thirty in the morning because I thought this was more important than sleep, isn’t being an irresponsible young adult gr8? Anyway, I’m not quite aware of how anything actually is in Russia, but I’ve heard horror stories and crimes like this happen in every part of the world, including my own home in the United States. It isn’t as though this is unrealistic, unfortunately. This isn’t a happy story, but I wanted to end on a somewhat uplifting note and I’m considering writing a second chapter bc who doesn’t need comforting, parental Viktor in their lives???
> 
> Пидор: Fag, homo, etc. I hope so, anyway. I know the Russian word for it but I don’t know how to actually type it in Russian, so I google translated it, and I’m used to being lied to by that translator.

_“When we speak we are afraid our words will not be heard or welcomed. But when we are silent, we are still afraid. So it is better to speak.”_

ღ

The harsh winter in Russia seemed colder, somehow. As if the snowflakes had turned into razor blades and the wind had grown a vengeance. Yuri shuffled along the sidewalk, where the snow was beginning to build up a little. It was already growing quite dark despite it being early in the evening, another factor Yuri could blame on winter. He was alone, headed home, but he couldn’t blame that on the weather. He couldn’t blame that on anyone but himself. People didn’t tend to want to be around someone like him, you know? Yuri wasn't all that approachable. They didn’t like the abrasiveness of his personality or the way he was often scowling.

People here didn’t like people like him.

Yuri hunched his shoulders as he passed by a group of boys, none of whom could have been much older than Yuri himself. There were four of them, all huddled together, with raucous shouting and laughing. It made Yuri walk a bit faster. Here in Russia, things were colder, and heavier. In the U.S., it had felt lighter, and even in Japan, it had been…easier. Yuri felt less suffocated, less like he had to snarl to keep people at bay... To keep someone from getting to close and seeing something they shouldn’t in him. Some people here at home already had seen, despite Yuri’s best efforts. It was hard not to assume things about a small, pretty boy with a hobby most deemed feminine. Even though Yuri was pretty damn sure ice skates didn't come with a label like that.

“Oi, пидор!” Yuri heard the shout and he knew it was directed at him, but he only shoved his hands in his pockets and kept walking. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard it and it wouldn’t be the last. He’d heard it in Russian, in English, he’d probably hear it in every other language, too. The whole world had something against him, didn’t it? The whole of his own home? That was why Viktor had been so willing to leave right? It hadn't been just because of Yuri, and because Yuri wasn’t good enough, wasn’t…right. Yuri spat onto the sidewalk and grumbled something under his breath. Viktor hadn't been the only one to leave. Why should he matter?

While he was still lost in thought, a big, gloved hand grabbed Yuri by his shoulder and whipped him around. It happened so fast that it took Yuri’s mind a second to catch up. When it did, he immediately turned hostile. “What do you want?” Yuri snapped, every bit as tough and confrontative as any fifteen-year-old. He was also wishing every bit that he’d stayed at the ice rink just a bit longer. He was always thinking about things like that, about how he could avoid situations like this. It was usually enough to not, you know, be stupid and admit anything out loud. Sometimes, though, people made assumptions on their own.

“I was talking to you, are you deaf, fag? Huh? Are you one of 'em? You look like one.”

Sometimes, you just didn’t feel like lying about it. “So what if I am? What’s a punk like you going to do about it?” The words tasted victorious and bitter on Yuri’s tongue, but not nearly as bitter as his own blood did when the boy punched him in the face. Yuri stumbled back from the force of the strike. It took all of three seconds to compose himself, reel his own arm back, and slug his assailant right in the nose. Something splintered beneath Yuri's knuckles, and that made him smirk with satisfaction. But, it was one against four, and the odds were already set against the smaller and younger Russian.

They left him in an alley, in the snow, battered but awake. Not by much, Yuri thought, as he heaved a cough from his aching chest. He had gotten several good hits in, and that soothed his pride a little, but it didn’t soothe anything else. He was lucky to be coherent enough to be thankful that he was even alive. With his head pounding and muscles throbbing, Yuri began to drag himself up and out of the freezing snow. His skin burned from the freezing temperatures and he was numb as he stood on shaky legs. Beneath him, flecks of crimson stained the otherwise flawless snow.  He reached up and ran his fingers across his split lip, grimaced, and spat out another curse. That was going to look pretty, later.

Stumbling a bit, Yuri steadied himself and started out of the alley. It was pitch black out, now, and no one else was outside. Yuri supposed that was a blessing. He hadn’t known much of those. Sniffling, the teenager scowled and began the trek home, as hard as it was to keep walking. His chest and stomach ached something fierce, and both of his legs shook under his weight with each step. That snow was now looking more inviting by the moment.

“Ping, ping!” Yuri started as a cheerful tune belted out from his phone. It was familiar, and he recognized it as Viktor’s ringtone. Yuri considered not picking up, he wasn’t in any shape to talk. Still, his numb fingers were already reaching for his (miraculously not cracked) phone. Hitting the accept call button, Yuri cleared his throat and held it up. “What?” he asked, his voice thick and scratchy.

“Yuri?” Viktor didn’t even use that ridiculous nickname the Katsuki family had dubbed him with. “You sound terrible, what’s the matter?” Hearing Viktor’s cheerful voice drop down into one of concern made it harder for Yuri to swallow.

Yuri stumbled again, forgetting to remember to focus on keeping his legs working right. “Nothing’s wrong, I’m walking home. It was a long day at the rink,” Yuri winced when his lip protested the talking.

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line, and then an accusation. “You’re lying to me.” Viktor sounded both offended and worried. “Yuri, what happened? Did you get hurt at the rink? I told you to be careful!” It sounded like Viktor was moving around, maybe leaving to talk in private, but Yuri couldn’t be sure.

Yuri, horrified, felt his eyes start to burn. It was so hard trying to lie about this. He knew he’d have to go home to his apartment, alone, and deal with this on all his own. He couldn’t call anyone here and risk them finding out the truth about what had happened. Yuri didn’t want anyone here to know. Not his remaining family, not his coach or rink mates. It might ruin him. Viktor was the exception, Viktor only knew because he'd asked. Yuri only couldn’t correct him because Viktor knew when Yuri was lying. It had been a couple of years ago, and that memory still stung a little. Yuri knew it had to have made Viktor think different of him.

Yuri sniffed again, and he heard Viktor shut a door. “Viktor,” Yuri started, trying his damndest to hold his voice together. Maybe to even sound annoyed, like always. "I got jumped.”

“What? When?” Hearing Viktor’s startled Russian was a welcoming familiarity. Yuri swallowed forcefully and rubbed hard at his eyes. He absolutely wouldn’t cry.

After a second, Yuri answered. “…just now, I was walking home, they called out to me and when I ignored them they came after me. I wasn’t going to let them talk to me that way, and they beat me up.” Even saying that out loud made Yuri want to ball up his bruised fist and punch a brick wall.

“Yuri, I’m on my way.”

Yuri almost dropped his phone, he was so caught off guard by the serious, tight words spoken to him over the phone. “You idiot, you’re in Japan, you can’t just—”

“I’m on my way, go to your apartment and lock the doors.” And with that, Viktor had hung up and Yuri was left staring at his phone instead of the ground as he trudged home. He knew Viktor to be brash, but coming all this way was at least a nine-hour flight, and for what? Because Yuri couldn’t hold his own in a fucking fight?

Because Yuri couldn’t just be normal?

Yuri grumbled as he shut his phone off and stuffed it into his pocket. Home was only a few minutes away, now, and there was still no one else around. They were all safe and sound inside. Yuri wanted a lot of things. He wanted to beat Yuuri Katsuki, to prove to Viktor how talented of a skater he was, and to make his senior debut stunning and unforgettable. But, being safe and sound right now sounded just as nice, too.

The last few minutes were nothing short of grueling. The sound of the key turning in the door was one of the most beautiful sounds Yuri had ever heard. Right next to his cat calling out loudly to greet him. Yuri shut the door and locked it behind him, then proceeded to slump against the solid wood. He slid down to sit on the floor. It was too much work to traipse to the couch, and Mika was already trotting up and meowing with concern.

Yuri looked at her and held out his arms for her, where she immediately hopped up into them. He was careful not to hold her too close to his face, but her soft fur soothed him a little. She didn’t judge him. Why would a cat care?

Yuri leaned back against the door and the pounding in his head got worse. The cold had seeped into his bones, now, and there it might stay. He couldn’t bring himself to move. There was too much weight on his shoulders. The weight of hate from so many people, who Yuri didn’t even know, and for why, he didn’t understand.

“Does it get better, Mika?”

Mika nuzzled Yuri’s neck.


	2. Chapter 2

Viktor had definitely not been lying when he said he was on his way, and he was not at all happy to find Yuri had not cleaned up. It had taken the man ten hours to get there, and Yuri hadn’t even bothered to change clothes. He had, at least, moved from the floor and to the couch.

“Yuri!” Viktor exclaimed, rushing inside of Yuri’s apartment the second the boy opened the door. Did he think he was the one who owned the place? Behind Viktor had stood the other Yuuri, whom Viktor had decided to bring, like always. Yuri stared at the other a long moment. Yuuri met him with a warm, if uncertain smile while he stood, waiting for an invitation inside.

Yuri debated shutting the door, but eventually he nodded his head inside and Yuuri shuffled on in. They were both met by Viktor pointing at Yuri and scolding him. “You didn’t even clean up?! Look at your lip! How many people were there?” Viktor had taken Yuri by the hand then and had begun pulling him towards the bathroom. He turned over his shoulder and called out to Yuuri in clear Japanese, nothing that Yuri understood. 

"I've got it," Yuuri called back in English this time, and Yuri wondered if it was for his benefit.

Once inside the bathroom, Viktor sat Yuri on the closed toilet seat and turned on the sink. “Yuri,” Viktor clicked his tongue in disapproval. “What have I told you about walking home alone so late?” Of course, it was Yuri’s fault. He already knew that. Yuri mumbled something under his breath that was both an excuse and an argument at once. That only made Viktor shake his head.

“Stay still, this’ll sting a little.” Viktor knelt in front of Yuri and began to dab at the cut on his lip, cleaning it. Yuri was proud to say he didn’t even hiss. Once satisfied that Yuri’s face was clean and that the cut wasn't serious, Viktor stood up. Maybe there was a little complaint about Yuri making his older friend kneel on the floor. With a clap of his hands, Viktor cocked his head towards the shower. “Alright Yura, get in the shower. I’ll take your clothes and put them in the wash. Cold water gets blood out, you know?” Yes, Yuri knew, he’d gotten blood on clothes plenty of times before. He was a competitive sportsman as well as an aggressive teenage boy, after all.

“Viktor, it’s fine, I can—”

“Shower, Yuri.” Viktor’s voice lowered as a touch of seriousness entered it, and Yuri scowled at the defeat. He undressed while the water heated up and tossed the clothes outside to Viktor, who called out a bright thank you. The warm water felt soothing to Yuri's aching muscles, but it burned the bruises and cuts that were on his skin. Yuri examined them, most were on his torso and legs, a few on his arms where the punks had grabbed at him. They were painful, but they would stop hurting in a few days. The memory might not, but there were plenty of those, too. Yuri just swallowed them down. He didn't know where they all went, but he was finding they were starting to make it hard to breathe.

When Yuri stepped out of the shower there were fresh clothes on the counter for him. The shirt was a couple of sizes too big, and he recognized it wasn’t his own, but one of Viktor’s. The pants were Yuri’s, though they, too, were loose and baggy. They didn’t cling and rub against his bruises, for which Yuri was grateful. “Are you dressed, Yura?” A knock on the door and Viktor’s voice filtered in. Yuri tore his gaze away from the mirror, where he was checking his lip.

“Da,” Yuri called. Viktor came in, holding a medic kit and reminding Yuri of a too-dramatic nurse. The two went to Yuri’s room so that Yuri could at least have his own bed instead of a cold toilet seat. While he sat and let Viktor fuss over the bruises, cuts, and scrapes, Yuri glowered at the floor. “It was only four, I’m fine. It’ll heal in a few days!” Why did Viktor have to make such a big deal about it?

Viktor glanced up at Yuri while bandaging the boy’s left wrist. “Worse things have happened with just one person, Yuri. I am very thankful you got away without needing a hospital.” Viktor speaking in quiet Russian was strangely comforting. It pissed Yuri off.

“They were just punks. I wasn’t gonna let them insult me, I’m no fucking coward!” Yuri felt defensive, though he wasn’t sure why. It just felt important now that he defend himself against what had happened.

“Yuri, what did they say?” Viktor asked, replacing the antiseptic into the kit once he had finished. Any wound Yuri had sustained was well taken care of, now.

Yuri didn’t look at Victor. The bedside table held Yuri’s attention instead, as seconds of silence ticked by. It was shameful to admit it, to say it out loud. So what if Viktor knew? Yuri didn’t want him hearing about all the humiliating names or things people did. “Yuri?” Viktor repeated, in that way that Yuri knew meant he wasn’t going to get to slide by.

“…пидор. They called me a fag, alright?” Yuri admitted after another pause, and his eyes burned again, just like before. Viktor didn’t say anything for a moment, nor did he move, and it made that stupid burning even worse. “I’m sorry, okay? Will you shut up and let me leave, now?”

Viktor suddenly threw his arms around Yuri, strong and unyielding as they wrapped Yuri up in a hug. They pressed the young teenager against a warm chest. “No, Yura,” Viktor murmured, his fingers finding and stroking through Yuri’s soft hair. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It is them who should be sorry.” Yuri, with his cheek pressed into Viktor’s chest, felt the burning leave his eyes and begin dripping down his face. Well, fuck, there went that whole _absolutely no crying_ promise he’d made to himself. Viktor made a quiet hushing noise when he felt Yuri start to shake.

“I’m sorry, Yuri. I wish I could have protected you from it, or that you’d been born in a more accepting place.” Viktor’s words were heavy on Yuri’s shoulders, which were already crumbling, but Viktor continued. “Yuri, I need you to know something.” Yuri felt the hand in his hair still for a moment. “None of this was your fault.”

Yuri’s body trembled on a sob, then, and the dam did begin to break. Viktor didn’t let go. He held Yuri and stroked through his hair, all the while murmuring quiet reassurances. Yuri sucked in a breath. “If I hadn’t said anything, if I was just normal, then it wouldn’t have happened!”

Viktor pulled back and stared down at Yuri, hard. “Do you think you aren’t normal?”

Yuri scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. He didn't answer until Viktor’s hands tightened on his shoulders. “Of course I’m not! I’m not like them, I’m not right!” His country thought so, most of his friends did, his father had, where was the lie?

“Yuri, look at me. Look at me,” Viktor's stern gaze held Yuri's, “there are people who tell other people they are wrong. All over the world, they say that. For someone’s race, for their religion, for their orientation. Does that make it right?” Viktor waited until Yuri hesitantly shook his head. “No, it doesn’t A person cannot change their skin tone, can they? A person cannot change their orientation, either. You were born this way, Yuri, and it is not your fault and you are not wrong. You are just fine. People like us, we were born to make history, even if it hurts.”

Yuri pursed his lips to stave off more stupid crying, but when asked if he understood, he firmly nodded his head. Viktor smiled. “Good, I’m glad.” He hugged Yuri close again. An immense wave of relief had come crashing over the older man. He had been so worried about Yuri, and that panic was only now thinning. “Come on, you need to eat something. We have to wash your face again first, though.”

Yuri scoffed out a laugh and Viktor beamed.

Outside in the kitchen, Yuuri had managed to pull something together out of the meager groceries Yuri had stocked. For which, Viktor was going to lecture him about. “You’re on your own out here, now, Yura! You have to eat well!”

While the three ate, Mika twined around Viktor's ankles in greeting. Sometimes she would drift over to Yuuri to investigate him, curious of the newcomer. Yuri was a little too awkward to directly talk to Yuuri, though Viktor made enough conversation for them all. Yuri did feel a reluctant gratitude to Yuuri for fixing dinner, which he didn't have to do. And, of course, for coming all this way just to check on some punk who’d been pretty much a giant jerk to him.

Viktor left the living room to go get another drink, and, Yuri heard him murmuring to Mika, to give the cat a secret treat. Yuri spared a glance at the other boy sitting at the opposite end of the couch. “Thanks,” he mumbled, startling Yuuri, “for coming with him and all.”

Yuuri smiled gently, and how anyone could be so soft and still be such an opponent on the ice was beyond Yuri. “Don’t worry about it, I’m happy to. Besides, it’s not easy anywhere, you know? I admire your bravery, out here.”

Yuri was about to ask what the man meant by that, when Viktor came back (a smug looking Mika trotting behind) and plopped down on the couch. He gave Yuuri a quick kiss on the cheek, and a stunning feeling of understanding welled in Yuri’s chest. It erased some of the isolation he’d felt earlier. The television cheerfully murmured in the background as Mika hopped into Yuri’s lap. It was a relaxing ambiance, altogether, and Yuri sagged in drowsiness. Viktor turned towards him and hooked an arm around the teenager’s shoulders to tug him close. Yuri was sleepy, drained, and thus didn’t bristle much.

Viktor smiled as he combed his fingers through Yuri’s hair. Beside him, Yuuri smiled with a new fondness. Leaning a bit closer, Viktor said something to Yuri that the other man couldn't quite understand. It felt warm all the same.

“Вре́мя, лу́чший до́ктор.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ???someone protect and hold my son???
> 
> Вре́мя, лу́чший до́ктор: Literally time, the best doctor and a Russian saying for time heals all wounds, it gets better with time, etc. I believe.
> 
> Listen when I was young and first learning about and coming to terms with my own sexuality, I sure wish I had an older figure like Ice Princess here to offer me guidance, because BOY that was a rough and toxic ride, man, good times.
> 
> To anyone out there struggling now, whether you have come out or can’t, please understand that right now isn’t forever. There are people who support you and there will be people who come into your life who do, too. Maybe you aren’t safe to be who you are at home, or in school, but I promise that one day you will be freer than you are today. Your hard times are not forever, and it does get easier with time. You get stronger, and new times come, and there will be a time you can be who you are without fear.


End file.
